Grimmy, Dearest
by RedPineapple27
Summary: GrimmIchi Cave!sex. DLDR.
1. Chapter 1

**This is for ****Starfire1423,**** who has an unreasonable obsession with this pairing (but I love her anyway). **

**Apart from the whole 'sex in lieu of fighting' bit, I've tried to keep them as in character as possible. This was originally a oneshot, but it got kind of long. I've written the whole thing and will probably upload a chapter a week (still need to do a little beta-ing). **

**Oh yeah, there's fourth wall breakage. If that irritates you, read anyway. **

**Warnings: Yaoi of the GrimmIchi variety. DLDR. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. **

_**Grimmy, Dearest. **_

Caves were, Grimmjow decided, like snow globes.

Always so much fun in the beginning; the whole finding and subsequent exploration side of the deal.  
Then, gradually, as the novelty wore off and the inevitable damp pong mixed with the mouldy smell of whatever animals had taken a shit there most recently began to wear on him, the realisation came that maybe caves weren't so great after all.

Not that any of this had much to do with snow globes –just the novelty part.

Grimmjow couldn't honestly say he cared; he'd been sitting in this draughty asshole of the coastline for weeks now, and the seasonal chill was getting to him.

He was, however, far too manly to pull the thick comforter that the damnable strawberry minded fool had left for him over his most definitely not shivering form.

Substitute bloody Shinigami? Che, who the hell was he subbing for anyway?

Grimmjow wasn't sure of it was the notion of the brat that had worsened his mood or the realisation that he had no freaking idea why the punk was a Soul Reaper in the first place.

He decided on the former, idly wondering why the damned brat was anywhere near his thoughts. It certainly wasn't any kind of friendly curiosity.

Setting flame haired idiots aside for the minute, the Sexta lifted a clawed hand to his chin, scratching lightly and finding irritation in the few days of electric blue stubble he found there.

He sighed, looking down at himself and glaring at some cave-gunk that had gathered on his white clad thigh. He picked at it, wincing a little as his overlong talons dug in –Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was not a creature accustomed to being gentle, a move not helped by the swap of his Espada uniform for his warmer released form. The former having been shredded to the point of uselessness during his defeat at Ichigo's hands in Hueco Mundo. Not that he accepted this outcome, he was merely biding his time and recuperating to allow for a proper, all out fight while neither of them was battle weary and the redhead had nothing to concern him other than his opponent.

Abandoning the gunk, he drew his knees up to his chest, bowing his head to allow his cobalt mullet to cover as much skin as possible.

Minutes passed, or perhaps only seconds, the Sexta wasn't known for his patience.  
He huffed loudly, half wishing he had an audience for his boredom, if only to provide an outlet for his newly repressed violent tendencies. At this point he would have settled for an unsuspecting passerby to scream 'fuck off' at.

Growling slightly, he rose to his feet. Slouched back and felt around for the absent pockets of his missing Espada uniform. Curse the cold for making him sustain his resureccion form.

Stepping a few paces further on his slim, sharply fetlocked ankles, he moved deeper into the dim tunnel. He shucked his form down by the wall closest to his makeshift 'bed', which was really more of a nest-type affair; majorly comprised of a few blankets and the odd scruffy pillow.

Pushing his scant number of newly acquired personal items aside, he searched for the lone source of entertainment Kurosaki had left for him –a much-loved paperback copy of 'A Clockwork Orange'.

Like all Arrancars, Grimmjow had no memories of his mortal life. But he must have learned to read at some point, quite fluently, at that. His visual cortex was intimately acquainted with the fluid kanji that strolled across the yellowed pages of the novel.

Bringing his legs around to the traditional 'crossed' position, the Sexta flipped through the thin text to his page, mentally settling in.

** . . . **

It could have been minutes or hours before Grimmjow placed the book carefully if begrudgingly, at his side.

Before him stood that damned strawberry: head held high and jeans just that little bit too tight.

Gorgeous and statuesque in the evanescent twilit hour.

Not that Grimmjow noticed this, of course. He merely recalled a description that that irritating Inoue girl had laid upon her favourite asshole.

"'Sup, Grimmy." Leered Ichigo, plopping himself down opposite the Sexta, knees pulled to his chest.

The overgrown kitty grunted in response, purposely engaging the young Shinigami is eye contact as his hand fumbled blindly for the discarded novel, holding his pretence as gently as he'd ever held anything.

"I brought food," Kurosaki continued, chucking the bundle towards Grimmjow, well used to the elder's antics.

"Clothes, too. Figured you're probably well enough to be self sufficient at this point, but I didn't want you out terrifying the humans in that crazy Furry-Otaku getup. Seriously man, you look like the escaped employee of a fetish bar. Best case scenario."

This got Grimmy's attention. He thought his resurreccion lent him an air of distinction, even a certain mystique. Certainly nothing like this 'Furry-Otaku' crap the Shinigami was on about. Not that he had the slightest idea what either was.

His lip curled in a soft growl and his long ears flickered in annoyance.

"I don't recall you having any problem with my resemblance to a cat." Because that's what Grimmjow thought Ichigo had been on about with 'furry'. "In fact, _Kurosaki Sensei, _I remember . . . "

The faux feline never finished his sentence. Ichigo's calloused hand came over his thin lipped mouth, though with little effect –the Shinigami's hand was dwarfed by the ex-Espada's wide, lascivious grin.

"Defensive . . . " came the muffled word, seeping around Ichigo's hand.

Ichigo shivered, swiftly but unwillingly retracting his hand as the soft slickness of the kitty's tongue slid over the hard skin of his palm.

"There are things I can remind you of, _Grimmy dearest. _Now, meow for me, Deary." Ichigo's sarcasm was not lost on the kitty. He scowled at the Shinigami in lieu of a response.

Slinking back to the opposite wall, the soul reaper threw some jeans, a raggedy pair of boxers and an old grey wifebeater singlet clumsily at the Sexta.

Refusing to meet the ex-Espada's gaze, he determinedly examined the erratic progress of an ant beside him, letting the words fall softly, guiltily from his mouth.

"Couldn't find any spare shoes. S'far as I know, your feet weren't hurt in our fight, so I assumed you'd be right for footwear."

"Yeah." Muttered the Sexta, the examining the pile: "Che'yeah right, like I'm wearing your cast-off knickers."

The boy looked at him then, cocking an eyebrow as if asking what other options Grimmjow had.

"Seriously, you _wore _these? They've got steroid midgets all over them. Bet you didn't even wash them, you perv."

"They are washed, dickwad. And I had a _Dragonball Z _stage a few years ago, so shut up. They're the only knickers you've got."

_Dragonball Z? _Wondered Grimmjow, tossing the unfamiliar phrase into the folder in his mind marked 'Stupid Human Crap'.

" . . . I'd rather go commando." Grimmjow smirked at the quickly masked longing that flashed on the Shinigami's face.

"Well," he said, rising to his feet, with a grin that Ichigo didn't trust, "Since you were so nice as to bring me clothes, I guess I should get changed."

Willing himself from his release form, the Sexta watched the younger gulp at his healed, newly exposed chest. Privately, he hoped that now he no longer had to hold his release, the scars would fade –some defeats were better forgotten.

Shrugging off the remains of his jacket, he began work on the ties of his hakama.

"If you're enjoying the view that much," commented the ex-Espada, taking in the lusty expression sitting on Ichigo's face, "You could come help me? It _is _your fault that I'm injured, isn't it?"

Looking nowhere near as guilty as Grimmjow would have liked, Ichigo rose, moving towards the Sexta wordlessly.

"And who brought you food, medicine, kept you from becoming 'Japan's most wanted'?" asked the Soul Reaper, hands replacing Grimmjow's on the loose Hakama strings.

Now on the same physical level, Ichigo's brown eyes focused purely on Grimmjow's teal ones. Neither backing down from the memory, the challenge.

The silence stretched, seconds whirring passed.

"You've forgotten how to use those opposable thumbs, be useful."

Ichigo smirked at the Sexta, freeing the ties of the hakama to fall, effectively releasing the entire garment for Grimmjow to lightly step out of.

Out of and toward Ichigo.

The teen couldn't honestly say he was surprised that the Arrancar's threat of knickerlessness was already a reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Wouldn't it be great if FFn had some kind of universal disclaimer so authors didn't have to remember?**

_Out of and toward Ichigo._

_The teen couldn't honestly say he was surprised that the Arrancar's threat of knickerlessness was already a reality. _

**. . .**

Not that he looked at the kitty's favourite area. It was pure intuition. Definitely not with a strong side of longing at what was certainly remaining _unseen: _Grimmjow's length, the sloping ridges of his muscles (Having spent weeks in a cave, Ichigo wondered briefly how he'd managed to maintain their condition), the contoured valley of his hipbones.

Grimmjow's slow chuckle brought him back.

"Like what you see? I would have thought you'd be used to bare cocks with that sexually repressed Quincy always sniffing around your Soul Reaper ass."

The Shinigami felt goose bumps erupt over his arms. Nearly forgetting to reply under the realisation of just where his thoughts had allowed his eyes to fall to.

"The only ass Uryu is interested in is Inoue's, _Grimmy._"

Ichigo decided that lying was better than giving Grimmjow the satisfaction of being right about Uryu's orientation.

"Whatever, just get me my clothes."

It was an indication of just how uncomfortable the Shinigami was that he complied immediately and without comment.

Ichigo shuffled the few feet to the discarded pile of his and Isshin's cast-offs, bending from the hips to retrieve them.

Hands full of clothes, Ichigo turned to the overly appealing sight of what the Shinigami supposed was the Sexta's release form.

'Supposed' being the operative word.

With the sharp white of his armour discarded, the ex-Espada's lithe, pale legs sat perpendicular to each other, bent at the knees and radiating out from his thickly muscled torso. He was spread out like a slut to reveal the phallus half obscured by teal curls that languished between the kitty's thighs. Soft tendrils of electric blue mullet offering only the most meagre of protection.

Sexta, indeed.

Ichigo's initial reaction, before even quite realising what was happening, was that in all his hand-held fantasies, he'd imagined the ex-Espada to be better equipped, especially when taking proportions into account. In their previous encounters, the urgency (and later disgust) had prevented any proper examination, so he'd never really had the opportunity to view the Sexta's offering with the rest of his luscious body in the shot.

Not that Grimmjow was poorly endowed by any stretch; just not as big as Ichigo might have hoped.

Did he just think 'hoped'?

Warming to the sight, Ichigo decided against the allowing the kitty the knowledge of his success.

Clothes forgotten, he let his eyes slide along the sculpted frame. Down the twisting muscles that ringed his arms, admiring the soft bulge that accumulated in his biceps as he leaned back into the loose pose. Moving along the well-formed pectorals; flicking over twin pert nipples and roving down to adore the definition in his abdominals. His eyes traced the faint trail of blueness that lead to Grimmjow's manliness.

Dragging his eyes back to the Arrancar's face, he winked into the faltering grin on Grimmjow's face.

"Mmmm, who's a horny kitty?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach.

_Dragging his eyes back to the Arrancar's face, he winked into the faltering grin on Grimmjow's face. _

"_Mmmm, who's a horny kitty?"_

**. . .**

Grimmjow Jaeggerjaques, debatably the most volatile among the Espada's (though definitely the most nubile) wasn't sure whether to acknowledge the twitch in his cock or flee. He of all people knew not to trust the look in Ichigo's eyes.

He elected the former. Who knew, he might get laid; this _was _a fanfiction, after all.

Pushing a slow smirk over his slackening features, he let out a little purr; acknowledging Ichigo's pathetic pillow talk without expressly agreeing.

Rocking his hips, he let his neck loll to the side, so as to allow his mullet to lie teasingly over the not-quite faded marks that were the sole physical remainders of their previous trysts. Bar Ichigo's ever so slightly looser sphincter, that is. Rising, Grimmjow proceeded slowly across the cave, deadly fetlocks clicking against the ground with every step.

The young Shinigami swallowed, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and slouching further forward. Bending his head, a sentence escaped his lips.

The Arrancar neither heard nor cared.

Lifting a hand to touch the teen's shoulder, he let a nail trail from the top of the downward slope to the crook of his neck, where it circled the twin of the redness that sat proudly on his own neck.

The Soul Reaper sighed into the contact. A small tremor ran from the tip of the Sexta's pointed nail to the slit in his cock, the continuation of the lazy circles sending tiny droplets of precome out to balance on the end of his cock, causing his underwear to stick. It was always so easy to fall to his nemesis' hands.

"Always so sensitive. That girl in your closet still not giving you any?"

In fact Grimmjow wasn't entirely sure that the weird kid who inexplicably slept in the brat's cupboard _was _a girl; 'her' hair was short enough and chest flat enough that there wasn't much to go on. Added to this, in their brief, infrequent and always battle related encounters, (s)he'd never done anything to identify herself with either gender. His calling her a girl was purely based off of the punk's reaction to her.

Pulling his head up, he met the ex-Espada's amused eyes, he knew that he was starting to flush, lids starting to drop on his eyes and his bottom lip was beginning to sag. Leaning forward before he embarrassed himself further and the laughter in Grimmjow's features grew, Ichigo leaned forward to seal his mouth against the Sexta's.

"_Rukia _isn't interested in me, _Grimmy." _Countered Ichigo, breaking the kiss and reaching around the Arrancar's neck to bring their mouths back together, having released the kitty's maw only to defend his friend.

_Okay, _surmised Grimmjow, _if they're not fucking then it's probably a boy; statistically speaking, anyway. _

Grimmjow's hand wandered up Ichigo's back, fingers muddling nonsensical lines on the muscles he found there breaking the kiss and biting his lip to avoid moaning. The Shinigami's digits mirrored his tracks, working their way up his front, making byways at his nipples.

Sighing in the place of the groan he felt beginning to roll in his throat, the ex-Espada surged forward, securing himself with the hands on Ichigo's back and sealing his lips back to those of the younger Shinigami.

Ichigo stumbled back, nearly falling with the unexpected exuberance of the Sexta's embrace.

Removing his lips from the younger's, the Arrancar shuffled his way down the Shinigami's shoulder, suckling and nipping at the fading mark, humming a little at Ichigo's responding groan. Once satisfied with the raging pink area, he flicked his tongue over it, sliding all the way to Ichigo's ear, tracing the shell with the spongy muscle.

Moaning quietly, the redhead moved his fingers to the ex-Espada's chin, urging his head up for a deeper kiss. Pushing his tongue in, Ichigo felt rather than heard Grimmjow's chuckle before the Arrancar's own wet probe forced his back into his mouth, proceeding to slip up to the sweet spot between the front of his top teeth and the gum.

Grimmjow felt Ichigo shudder lightly against him, causing him to grin into the kiss. Placing his hands on the rim of the Shinigami's shirt, he lifted it over his head, breaking their kiss for only the briefest of seconds. In the absence of protest, Grimmjow began to fumble at the fastening of Ichigo's jeans, frustrating himself almost to the point of pulling himself from their kiss to see what he was doing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hehe, evil Grimmjow is evil :P. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. **

_Grimmjow felt Ichigo shudder lightly against him, causing him to grin into the kiss. Placing his hands on the rim of the Shinigami's shirt, he lifted it over his head, breaking their kiss for only the briefest of seconds. In the absence of protest, Grimmjow began to fumble at the fastening of Ichigo's jeans, frustrating himself almost to the point of pulling himself from their kiss to see what he was doing. _

**. . .**

Eventually, the trousers fell to the gritty cave floor – another snow globe similarity, mused Grimmjow. The Sexta pushed his arousal flush against that of the younger's, grinding hard and thoroughly, though with carefully slow strokes.

There were few sounds between them, nothing but the occasional laboured breath, the warm thwack of skin on skin or the low baritone thwack of Ichigo's back against the newly heated cave wall. This made sense, to Grimmjow, at least. They never had a nice word for each other when the Arrancar's hands were in their proper place, so what reason was the saccharine sweat along the redhead's neck to start?

Truth be told, Grimmjow wouldn't have minded some kind of pillow talk. Call him an egotist, but he really _got something _out of having a partner mutter his name, louder if they came with the same breath. Even soft pants or slick, needy demands had some merit. Though like everything between them, this too had become a competition of who could be the quietest. Not that this was without its own particular silver lining. On the contrary, it allowed a combination of his favourite things: making the lithe teenager under him squirm and winning.

Ichigo released his lips and grinned up at him, reaching around to knead Grimmjow's ass. The Sexta bit his tongue to stem the moan that rose in him as the Shinigami's slim finger prodded its way into his cleft, circling the one of the only places on the ex-Espada's body that battles had failed to wear. Deciding to tease the younger with the possibility that he might be allowed to top, Grimmjow allowed the teenager to fiddle with his hole, recapturing his lips and opening his mouth as permission for Ichigo to slide his tongue into his elder's mouth he brought his right hand around to the Shinigami's nipple, tracing the areola he found there and then drawing a line down with the pointed nails of his resureccion, leaving a memory in the thin, red track that trailed from his nail.

Moving through vibrant curls, the Arrancar continued to right to the tip of the Soul Reaper's cock, where he swapped the nail for his fingertip, mussing the precome that lay there around the end of his tumescent member. Sliding his finger to the base of Ichigo's dick, he wrapped his hand around it and began a lazy stroking motion.

The Arrancar tried not to giggle as the Shinigami tried to emulate the tongue trick he'd tried earlier, though managing only a pleasant tickle. Breaking the kiss, Grimmjow let the hard, feral look of arousal spread to his features, looking up at Ichigo and falling to his knees. Giving the boy's cock a few more strokes, he glanced up at the redhead with a final lascivious gleam and took his length into his mouth, keeping his eyes trained upon the strained face of Ichigo, finding amusement in the way Ichigo clearly wanted to scream. Something that did not go unappreciated by his own member.

Widening his mouth to accommodate the girth, Grimmjow hummed around the length, causing Ichigo to buck lowly into his mouth. Feeling bony fingers furl in his hair, the Arrancar further slowed his pace, purely to frustrate the younger. He moved a hand to the younger's thigh, caressing the skin with unknown patterns.

Removing his sticky lips with a wet _thunk_, Grimmjow stared up at the Shinigami's flushed, half lidded face.

"Lie down."

"No, it's cold. I want to stand up."

"Suck it up, Princess. You're going down by yourself or I'm not finishing you off."

Ichigo lay down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.**

**So here it is, the final chapter (and the end of this damnably long lemon). **

**Enjoy**

"_Lie down."_

"_No, it's cold. I want to stand up."_

"_Suck it up, Princess. You're going down by yourself or I'm not finishing you off."_

_Ichigo lay down. _

The bluenette crawled over to him, not bothered to stand up yet. Manoeuvring the redhead's legs to accommodate him, he settled himself between and bent to flick his tongue over the tip of the Soul Reaper's dick. He traced a vein down the shaft before circling the slit and sliding his mouth back down. Keeping a warning hold on the Shinigami's hips the whole time – no way was he letting the punk-ass shit make him gag. Humming again, he pushed his wet muscle across the unnervingly warm length that sat fully in his mouth.

The boy below him strained against his hold, a sharp pants barely covering the near moans that coincided with every contraction of Grimmjow's lips as he bobbed between the Soul Reaper's thighs.

The fingers tangled in his mullet began to claw at his scalp and his hips jerked harder than before, knowing that it would be the single most irritating thing he could do short of leaving the redhead with blue balls, Grimmjow pushed up and levered his mouth off of the boy's cock. Leaning back, he spread his legs a little, enjoying the simultaneously wanting and monumentally pissed expressions that danced across the teenager's face. The sight of Grimmjow's perky dick, swollen and at attention that offset the pallid tone of the rest of the ex-Espada's skin, coupled with the blue knots that curled around the base and the longer strands that swung from his head to scrape the tip, made Ichigo's decision and the boy rose to meet the Arrancar.

Keeping his eyes on Ichigo, Grimmjow set his hands upon himself and began to stroke, teasing but not obscuring his cock. He felt his dick respond to the Shinigami's responding gulp as his face coloured further.

"Go get the oil. You know where it is."

The younger rose and headed for his jeans, sorting through the pockets until he found the small bottle, more by touch than sight. He hadn't taken his eyes from the bluenette for even the briefest of seconds.

Pausing in his ministrations, Grimmjow took the bottle from Ichigo and squirted some of the contents into his hand. Even before the Arrancar instructed him, the teenager's hands had replaced his own and he huffed lightly with satisfaction. Flicking the screw top once more, Grimmjow coated his fingers and reached around to the redhead's favourite orifice. Tossing the bottle aside, he began to rub the puckered, discoloured skin with unprecedentedly gentle motions. Whilst this wasn't Ichigo's first time, it hadn't been so many times that the boy was entirely used to his invasion.

Biting back a moan, Ichigo fingered the Arrancar's thick shaft, oil slicking his digits more thoroughly than the cock he so gently massaged. His breathing hastened as a deadly nail slid through his sphincter.

"Damn Kitty, cut your nails once in a while, would you?" Vainly he hoped that Grimmjow didn't hear the quaver in his words.

His only response was the light tremor of a second nail being dragged along the stretched skin of his entrance. He tried not to shiver, though failed miserably.

Below him, Grimmjow worked his digit around, searching for Ichigo's volume control. Pulling out almost completely, he pressed a second nail up, adding to the indignity. Scissoring forward and pushing deeper than before, he felt around for the magic spot. Ichigo shifted a little, usually a sign that Grimmjow was close. He continued in the same direction, though using the tapered tip of his nail. Sensing a change in texture through the dead cells, he scratched a little harder, relishing the sharp intake of breath from the Shinigami. Moving back once more, he added the final finger, stretching and re-affirming his knowledge of the terrain before pulling all the fingers out and aligning himself.

He turned his head briefly, looking to Ichigo for confirmation. Then, gifted with a slight nod, he slid into the silken warmth of the redhead's hotter than Hell teenaged ass.

They sighed with synchronicity, both more than a little relieved to be on the home straight. For as satisfying as coitus always was, they never quite relaxed with each other. There was still the underlying danger of their bloodlust, staunched as it was but never quite gone. And what closer feeling to the adrenaline charge, the tense muscles and sweat slicked skin of battle was there other than sex?

Sex with an enemy, no less.

Seating himself, Grimmjow paused a moment, allowing the boy above him to adjust to the sensation.

But only a moment, the Sexta never had been patient. Slowly, he brought himself out, hovering millimetres inside before re-sheathing himself, pushing faster than he should have, though not quite caring as long as those heat soaked walls slipped around him.

Ichigo made a soft '_hnnn' _into his shoulder, probably more out of pain than pleasure at this point. Opening his mouth, he set his teeth to Grimmjow's shoulder, suckling the skin as his canines dug in. Grimmjow almost chuckled at the useless revenge, slowing his pace a little in order to change the angle, hoping that this would alter Ichigo's reaction.

The Shinigami flicked his hips up into the contact. Grinding down as the Arrancar found his prostate. He leaned into Grimmjow and hovered, obviously wondering whether a kiss would be tolerated.

The ex-Espada complied, sliding his lips against those of the Shinigami and dragging his teeth over the nerves on the inside of the lip. Causing Ichigo to buck a little, pushing his erection over the Arrancar's abdominals. The contact had him suck in air, still refusing to make any noise.

The kiss intensified, leaving Grimmjow with an idea.

Pulling out with a wet '_thunk'_, he scooted back against the wall, giving Ichigo a 'come hither' look and loving that the hard and needy Shinigami complied immediately. Leaning forward, he kissed any mild confusion right out of the boy. Gripping the redhead's hips but Ichigo needed no encouragement to kneel in exactly the right position for the Arrancar's swollen, leaky tip to tease the slicked hole.

Slipping his lips from Grimmjow's, the soul reaper sent him a knowing look before lowering himself onto the waiting shaft with excessive force. The ex-Espada felt the squidgy pile of nerves against his slit as Ichigo's silent scream vibrated through him. Recovering from the accidental assault on his prostate, the Shinigami began a truly punishing pace above the Arrancar –obviously aiming for a moan for his efforts.

The sight of the teenager twisting above him, coupled with the wringing sensations the boy's walls exerted on his erection, lead the Arrancar's balls to begin tightening. Pushing his head back against the cave wall, he muttered a lowly _fuck_, before closing his eyes and starting to meet Ichigo's every move, abusing the soul reaper's prostate to the point of pain, if the blissed out, edgy look on the boy's face was anything to go by.

Licking his way up the Shinigami's neck, Grimmjow tongued his ear, leaving words in his wake.

"Can I?"

It was the one concession to normality their relationship had: Grimmjow had enough grudging respect for the younger not to spill himself inside without permission.

His answer came in the form of a double assault of Ichigo's teeth finding purchase in the junction of the Arrancar's neck and a particularly firm clench and grind from the teenager's posterior.

_Well, shit._ Thought Grimmjow, feeling himself flow into Ichigo as the boy's finger's played with his balls, teasing the orgasm as long as he could.

Without removing himself, the ex-Espada brought a hand to the Shinigami's member, pumping slowly, steadily, until Ichigo found himself minus a few grams of fluid.

Stilling his hand, the Arrancar locked eyes with the soul reaper. It was a few seconds before reality came a-knocking and Ichigo scrambled up, face reddening to rival Renji's flamethrower hair. Slowly, Grimmjow rose, moving to where the boy was hopping around, trying to get his jeans back on straight. From behind, he slipped his arms around the younger's torso, more hoping to irritate the teenager than anything else.

He resolutely ignored the brief happiness he felt when Ichigo stilled beneath him, leaning his head lightly on the bluenette's shoulder.

" . . . Grimmy."

**Aaand cut. **

**Aren't I evil? *grins*.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed. **


End file.
